


The outsiders (Il m'oubliera)

by francoantoniohierro



Category: My Chemical Romance, frnkiero andthe cellabration
Genre: Art School, Artist!Gerard - Freeform, Cheating, Fluff, I don't know, M/M, Paris - Freeform, Smut, alternative universe, dumb stuff, handjob, my chemical romance - Freeform, singer!frank, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-15 22:33:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11815536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/francoantoniohierro/pseuds/francoantoniohierro
Summary: AU: Oneshot. Gerard is studying in France. His boyfriend lives in the States.





	The outsiders (Il m'oubliera)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot, but i’ll *probably* write a second part (or more) later. It's not meant to be a big thing though, cuz i know its super silly lol. yeah… idk if i should keep going do tell me cuz i can be negligent with this + i'm still not very used to posting stuff online…
> 
> Ehhh fuck it. 
> 
> oh yeah, the title is a reference to the song Elle m'oubliera by the band Aline. its dope! the entire album is great.

*****

The first month here was a bizarre experience. Everyone could tell i didn’t belong in this place. I would get lost on my way home every other day. There would be noone to ask for help. They simply didnt understand me. Or they pretended that they didn't, so that they could ignore me and move on. Some of ‘em even gave me dirty looks. 

This place wasn’t welcoming. It was beautiful, but not the paradise that i was sold.

The people here were not amused by my “american ways”. My broken french and subpar paintings weren’t going to make me feel accepted anytime soon. The other americans in my campus seemed to have the same issues. But where they had met new people and improved their skills in the language: things for me stayed static for the first weeks.

After the third month, i could mostly understand an everyday conversation in french. There would be some phrases here and there that i didn't get, sure. But after hearing them a few times they would start to make some sense in my head. I would still avoid talking to people though. It was too difficult still. People had a hard time getting behind my awkward pronunciation; so it was a stressful thing for all parties involved. 

Right now, it's been about six months. I can do some small chat with the people here. I don't get lost (not _that often_ , anyway). I know some people here too, no more than casual friends. I’m mostly doing good in school. I dress different now. I don't look so much like a dumb tourist anymore, i think. Which is great, cause people really don’t like meeting tourists in their city.

I also smoke ten times more than i used to back in the States. Not sure if those are good things or not. But things have definitely changed. I’ve changed.

This place isn't so scary anymore. It's just - different. I still wake up some mornings thinking that i’m back in New Jersey. But when i see the walls of my cheap apartment i know that it's all gone. That’s i’m stuck here for the next years of my life. That for the next few years i won’t get to talk to someone like me at all.

But really, people here are _fine_. They were intimidating at first. Now that i can speak basic french, they see to be fine with my existence here. Thing is, I simply don't have a connection with the people here. My old childhood friends aren't here. My siblings aren't here. My _boyfriend_ sure as hell ain't here. None of the trashy neighbors or other of my favorite Jersey figures are anywhere near me.

I have no doubts that I can survive this place. I know that college won't beat me. I could get a job here too if i felt like it. I’d just rather be home. Reading some shit comic book or talking about banal things to my close friends. My colleagues here don't have the Jersey accent or the trashy sense of style that i do. They don't want to listen my dumb american dribble, why would anyone want to? 

“i miss you so much”  
This was the last message that Bert had sent me. Two full weeks ago. He stopped texting me back after that.

Bert stayed in the States, like a sane person would do. He's going to community college, and he’s also working for a fast food chain. He doesn't get tons of free time like i do. He can't just visit me. Or call me. Or even text me frequently. He's just “busy” now. From his perspective, I’m having tons of fun here anyway. 

Miss you too.

I sure as hell ain't busy. All i get to do is paint. Smoke cigarettes till dawn. Possibly get drunk with the spare money i have. Which can be a lot, considering that i skip most of my meals lately.

My fingers have gotten calluses. My hair is getting long. I’ve been losing weight like crazy. And i suddenly find myself thinking in french instead of english. It's a strange thing. If my mother got a glimpse of me, she’d be mortified. To her i’d probably look very weak, and ill. 

But she isn't here.

The landscapes here aren't so beautiful anymore. In fact, they depress me. They've become so familiar. They're not exotic or mysterious anymore. They're just part of my morning jog to the campus, that's all. People don't look at me twice. I'm still an outsider here, it's just not as obvious. I’m not even sure that i want to belong here.

Sometimes i wonder if all of this is really worth it. Maybe my mother shouldn't have invested her money in sending me here? Right? Nah. Who am i kidding. I love my french teachers. And the work. And the pretentious lectures that i can hardly understand. Those are the best parts. 

I don't care for everything else though. Outside of school i’m miserable. 

My french still isn't fluent. I've barely learned enough of this language to survive. I'm never going to belong here. I'm not going to get to truly know anyone. It's not realistic for someone like me. I had a hard time fitting in Jersey! this place is way more complicated! The following years are going to be filled with art, loneliness, and maybe a suicide attempt or two.

Nothing out of the ordinary for a tourist in France. Business as usual. 

***

One of my favorite places here is a bar downtown. It mostly has french bands attempting to cover american songs. They do also bring american musicians here and there, in special occasions. Usually new indie groups with a few sort-of known rock bands to fill in space. It works. Its mostly a place for american travelers, anyways. 

They sell the typical fast food junk and play Viva Las Vegas when business is blooming.

I know that it's fuckin’ tacky, but i can't help it. I kinda love all of it. It's so damn trashy that it makes feel better. Its also one of the only places where i can talk freely in my native language. The people working there are all americans too, so they occasionally give me advice for living here. They get most of my struggles. 

It makes me feel at home. It makes me feel a little safer. It makes me feel like Bert and Mikey are going to show up at any second. It's also better than staying alone in my apartment all night long.

There's a band playing here that i've never heard of. They were introduced as The Cellabration. People in the audience seemed to be excited about it. It's a bigger audience than usual, too. They caught my interest just a bit.

I mean, whatever. All these shitty pop rock bands sound the same to me. That's not why i'm here. It isn't about hearing _good_ music. It's just about hearing music in english and ordering hotdogs. I never expect the second coming of Misfits to perform. I’m too old to enjoy the usual song regarding teenage love.

Their music sucked as i had expected. I couldn’t stop looking at them perform though. I must admit, the singer was fucking hot. I watched them play two or three songs. Don't even know why. It's not like he cares. I’m not a part of his group of teenage fans in the front of the stage. I’m the loser getting drunk at the back. 

When their set was over, a different american band with a similar sound was next. The only way that i realized that it was a different band was because the attractive singer was gone. He was replaced with some tall guy that i didn't care for. The crowd seemed to be super into them, though. Whoever they were. 

Not long after that a different band performed. And it was a clearly french band covering english songs. After that i stopped paying attention completely. The teenagers were gone. The usual shitty bands were performing. It was getting late. My food was over too, and i didnt feel like i should order more drinks. 

I've gotten blacked out drunk here before, its not pretty. This city is already huge and confusing as it is. No need to add alcohol in the mix. The only reason that i didn't end up in a ditch was because the workers here helped me.

Staying any longer would only cause me trouble. 

“Bonjour!”  
Broken accent. It was so bad that even _i_ noticed. Me, AKA the guy who can't eat eggs anymore because i stillcan't pronounce oeuf. His accent was so bad; It was the type of thing you hear at cheap movies where actors can’t be bothered to try.

I would know about bad accents. He sounded just like me in my first french class.

“Jersey? Right?”  
I asked, turning to the person who was sitting next to me. To my surprise, it wasn’t a random drunk like i had originally thought.

It was the guy from the band. The one band that i didn't like. The one that was handsome and played guitar. How was i going to deal with someone like _that_? It made me wish i hadn’t said anything at all. Made me wish that i was already in my way home, unable to embarrass myself in front of him.

“How can you tell?”  
He was grinning, he had no issue with my accusation. 

It was not the sort of thing that happened to me. Ever. It made no sense. 

“I’m from Jersey too” My heart was pumping loudly now. I was incredibly nervous all of the sudden. I clarified, “our accent and french doesn't blend very well”

“i noticed. Its god damn near impossible! Worst, nobody gets me if i try to just say it in english”

“I mean...it is France”

We both laughed. Still, my mind was set on going home. It was the right thing. It was too late at night to be making friends. Let alone hot friends. Ones that were sweaty. Or that had pretty faces.

But, was i ever going to get the chance to talk to someone from Jersey here? No.

“Comment ca va?”  
The first word was butchered to the point of being almost indecipherable. The other two words were pronounced like _spanish_. It was bad. Like, in a way that couldn't be faked. It was so bad that i couldn't help but to chuckle. It was endereaning in a way.

And cute. So cute… It was getting late though. I still needed to get home. Maybe not as soon though. 

“My manager teached me that! I asked for the basic french? The easy stuff only. Enough french to get me laid and all” He continued, “That's all that i'm here for anyways.”

He didn't seem to be serious. He had a grin on his face like he expected me to laugh. And i tried, fuck did i try, but i was so nervous. I ended up laughing louder than any normal person should have. The obvious nervous laughter that teenagers pull.

He could probably see right through it. But he was still grinning. I should have left by then. 

“Je suis le..” He stopped completely “- Eh, the american pig. How do you say that? That’s probably something that i’m going to be hearing tonight a lot.”

“I think you’ll do fine, man”

He asked the bartender for a drink. He also tried ordering one for me, but i went against the decision. I didnt want for things to get out of hand. In my mind, i could stay for maybe a few more minutes ...but that had to be it. 

“You're the guy from the band, right? I saw you guys perform earlier”  
It was a stupid question. But i had drank too much, it was fucking late and i was not going to waste my time. If he was the guy in the band i was interested. if he wasn't, i was going to be leaving. Jersey singer _and_ attractive? That would be worthwhile. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He was making it sound like it was _nothing_ “This is our last date here. Then we are headed to Italy. For two days or so”

“That’s awesome”  
The bartender gave Frank his drink. It made me think of how badly this could end. It made me think that it was time to go home. I've had nights similar to this one back in Jersey. They end as you would expect.

“Ever been to Italy?”

“No, god no. I wish.”

Italy would probably be nice. The thought had never crossed my mind before. It never seemed like a tangible possibility. Now that i had seen France, why not ruin Italy too while at it? Invisible here, invisible there. I could probably save some money to visit on a weekend. I don’t need to ask anyone for permission. 

That could be nice. I could leave there before things got too _familiar_. 

“Let's go together”

“You're insane.” he just started laughing louder than before. Perhaps he was nervous too “-gonna end up stranded and shit. I'm not that stupid” 

“What?” he asked, as if his proposal wasn't preposterous. “Are you here with your family or something?”

“No. It's not _that_. I’m - i’m in college so i can't just, y’know, _leave._.” I suddenly found myself shaking my head. Feeling stupid for taking the proposal seriously at all. course he's kidding you, idiot. “its- maybe next time”

He smiled.

“Course.” He took a sip of his drink before going, “Lemme guess. You’re like an english major? Something like that? Hmm?”

“No!”  
Why would he get that idea? Was he implying that i look boring? Was it a bad thing? A good thing? Something in the middle? It made me laugh, but i still felt a little uneasy about it.

“Am i close?”

“Fuck.” I laughed again. It was so stupid. For whatever reason, it was kinda charming too “I don't know?” 

“Alright, alright. Psych major?”  
He took another drink. 

“No, sorry.” 

“Close?”  
He asked. This time i had to clarify:

“Absolutely not”

“Uh…” He closed his eyes for a moment to think “Architect?”

“Close” 

“Hmm...maybe...art school kid?” This time i nodded. It made him start beaming like crazy. For whatever reason, the news seemed to please him “Seriously? Well, now you gotta show me your art, man”

He seemed to be dead serious. The adult version of a child that sees you drawing, then asks you everything about it. Then wants you to draw him his favorite superhero. Then never speaks to you again.

“No. I dont - we dont, bring our works everywhere y’know”

My comment didn't make him any less excited. He actually thought that i was going to be a good artist or something. That because i was in art school it automatically made me good. It felt wrong to ruin it for him. Clearly he had a thing for artists. If that was the case, why did i have to spoil it? 

“C’mon, i got a pen right here”  
He quickly started looking for something inside his pocket. I had to stop him then.

“No! I'm not any good, y’know. Don't wanna disappoint ya”

“You won't! I mean, c’mon. Meeting an artist in Paris? This is great!”

He genuinely thought i was good. Why did he want me to disappoint him so badly? I wasn't going to lie. It was best to change the subject entirely.

“You’re liking Paris so far then?”

“I guess. I like _you_.

****

It was not supposed to happen. I was supposed to get home early. As i always did. I was supposed to go to bed. Next day, wake up early for my classes. Follow the usual routine. The one that didn't get me into any trouble.

I was not supposed to get there at three m with a _man_. 

We were not supposed to end together in my couch. He was not supposed to end on top of me. 

“You’re so fucking hot”  
Small wet kisses on my neck. Enough to make me whimper. I couldn’t tell him to get out. As bad as it sounds, i really didn’t want to. It felt good. Plus, he wasn’t a random guy from a bar. He was a hot guy in a band. And he seemed to like me!

Plus, no one had to know. No one knows me here. No one cares about me here. _Most importantly,_ it felt really good.

I’m not the best judge though. God, i haven’t had sex in so fucking long. Too long. There was no way i was going to stop. I had no doubts in my head: it was happening, it was so wrong, but i needed it. I was grinding a complete stranger in my apartment. It was pretty obvious that things werent going to end soon.

“-been watching you all night.” erratic breathing. More kisses on my neck. More shivers on my spine. No way to stop. “-knew i had to talk to you. Fuck. I knew that it had to be you”

He grasped my crotch. That was enough to make me yelp. 

He gave me a kiss right after, and i could tell that he was smiling. He reeked of vodka, cigarettes, and sweat. But it didn’t bother me at all. In fact, i wanted to be as close as possible to him as i could. 

“What's your name again?”  
The man asked. Momentarily, there was some clarity in my head. Again, my mind reminded me that: yes, indeed, what i was doing was wrong. I couldn't just let a complete _stranger_ inside my apartment. I could just let said stranger grope me-

“Gerard. I’m gerard”

“Hmmm. Gerard” more kisses on my neck. More wimpers. More wanting to be as close to him as possible. “What's next, Gerard?” 

I looked at him. Hoping that i would comeback to my senses. Instead, seeing his gorgeous face smiling made things worse. I lost control then. 

I wouldn't blame it on the alcohol. Or how late it was. Or how lonely i was. I think his face is what truly doomed me.

Something good had to come out of this awful place. I just completely stopped caring. He had won. I erratically started undoing my jeans, trying to get them off me as soon as possible. I needed him to touch me. I needed him. Whatever that meant. Whatever he was willing to give me. I was so down. 

God, i miss Bert. This guy isn’t what i want. This guy doesnt love me. 

When i looked around me i noticed that Frank was getting his clothes off too. All of ‘em. The jackets, the shirt, his jeans. 

And suddenly my mind was right back to: No one needs to know. 

In a way, it was like being a teenager again. The nerves, the fear, the anticipation. But mostly the whole “i’m so turned on that i’m going to die” part. I didn’t get any of those chills when i was with Bert regularly back in Jersey. It was fun, but it wasn't _this_.

Bert also didn't look like a fucking model. 

“You got lube, right?

“Uhhhh” i couldn't stop looking at him. He was so fucking beautiful. I couldn't believe he was standing there with me. I couldn't even comprehend what he was saying at first. There was no way i could stop. It made me ache, having to say “No. No, i don't”

“Shit” He sighed. “i have the condoms on me but - i didn't bring any lube. Shit. I completely forgot…the fucking- van and shit.” he struggled with his words for a bit. “Forgot everything - damn van-”

The booze was probably making it difficult for his mind to work properly. That has to be the only plausible reason as to how he ended up with someone like _me_. 

He was covered in tattoos. He had a _band_ the way cool kids did. He looked _good_ naked. We couldn't possibly be more different from each other. 

I wonder how much alcohol it took for him to forget that i was a loser. I could totally use that information.

“…i don’t have anything here. God - I’m sorry. I don't do this very often”  
Or ever.

He sighed again.

He sat next to me back in the couch. Fucking cockblocked by _life_. It's like this place has something personal against me. The closest to a good experience here? All ruined. With a four word question. Can’t imagine how Frank must have felt.

To my surprise, he didn’t look upset. He smiled at me. Maybe he was too drunk to understand. Maybe _i_ was too drunk to understand. It didn’t matter, cause i smiled right back at him. He got closer, and pushed his lips against mine like we were lovers. Like we weren’t two idiots who had wasted their night for nothing. As if we actually enjoyed all of it. He slid his tongue into my mouth and held my hair very tight. Those small things that Bert stopped doing so long ago. I moaned as best as i could. 

His hand traveled towards my crotch again. It made me wimper again. As if his touch was painful to my skin. Six fucking months. How had six fucking month's gone by without _anything_. How could someone just give up this feeling? I felt like i could cum just from that. 

He started rubbing at the base of my cock. It was driving me crazy. It wasn't even supposed to be more than teasing: it was too slow to be anything else. Didn't stop me from crying out, though. He tried kissing me again, but i couldn't stop with the cries. It felt so good - i needed that.

“You okay, gorgeous? You ‘kay, right?”

More kisses on my neck. It felt just as good as the first time. I cried out. He probably thought that i was straight up insane. Yelling like a damn virgin.

My neighbors probably hated me that night.

“Oh god,” he kept his grip on my member. “it's been so long- you have no idea”

The man chuckled. Still smelled like the expensive vodka he tasted earlier. He continued rubbing my erection. Once he started going a little faster, he went back to kissing my neck. I was already leaking precum everywhere. And for all that is holy, i could not stop screaming. Really, the whole thing was embarrassing. 

But y’know, it wasn't just a shitty handjob. It was a handjob from that fucking _God_. It wasn’t Bert doing foreplay while we watched some shitty movie. This, this actually felt good. This, i actually wanted to continue. Not better than sex, of course. But better than what it had any right to be.

“Keep making me noises for me.” He demanded. i wasn’t going to stop any time soon “God you're so fucking hot, Gerard. I'm so glad i talked to you”

More cries and more cries. He was touching me faster now, making me feel agitated. It hurt. Fucking dry handjob. Is there something wrong with me? Is this really what i want? Am i this pathetic? And desperate for any type of contact?

I bit my lip. To answer all of those questions: yes. 

“Yes! yes-!”  
He gave me a quick kiss again. As i had expected this time, he was smiling. 

“Come on, princess. C’mon.”

It made me lose it. I don't even know why. Drunk hookups never do it for me. But this was different for some reason. I started moaning louder, knowing that i was so close now. It was heaven. 

Another kiss on my neck. Like i had earned it.

“Yeah. Be good”  
I closed my eyes and felt everything around me change. My legs were trembling. I screamed louder than ever. It was so good. I came for what felt like ages. Kept crying and whining as Frank kept touching me through my orgasm.

I couldn't believe it. I did it. I had completely fucked up. Now i was not going to forget any of this. You cant forget things like that. Sadly.

He finally stopped touching me. I had gone soft already. Still, I couldn't even open my eyes yet. There were too many things going on. Too much to worry about now that my mind was working properly again. Now that i wasn't just listening to my stupid body. 

He kissed me again. This time as needy as before. It made me feel calm for a second. I liked how it felt a lot. I quickly went back to my anxious thoughts, though. I had to clean myself, get rid of him, get some sleep before class -

“I'm sorry. Probably ruined your night and all.”

“Ah, it's alright. I haven't been with someone in a while. I thought it would be easy here. Being the city of love and all”  
He sounded sincere.

“It's not, though. That's just what they tell to the tourists. 

“Well, i met you? Didn't i?” It made me grin “I don’t mind this”

I kissed him. Don't know what came over me. Don't know why i started touching him either. Or why i kissed him again and again and kept touching him. Maybe i did know why. Maybe. It had something to do with the alcohol, his beautiful face, and just - Paris, in general. Maybe he was right. Maybe it _was_ different here. 

Or maybe i _was_ a stupid tourist. Finding romance in this filthy place.

God damn it, dry handjobs... They are the absolute worst for everyone involved.

*******

By the time i woke up, Frank was gone. Didn’t try to wake me up at all. Which was great, considering i had missed all of my classes! My alarm should have helped me, but i imagine that he turned it off once it started buzzing. His comfort was apparently more important than my lecture at 8 am. Fuck. 

He simply left. He had an early flight to Italy that morning. So i imagined that he didn't have the time to say goodbye. Or the time to give me a kiss...

Not that i should have expected anything else. 

He did leave two small notes on my coffee table. It was a post it note with - what i assumed - was his phone number. Not that i would ever call...The other note was a cartoon drawing of a vampire. It had the fangs, a smile, and everything that you can draw when you only have five minutes at your disposal. He probably did it with the pen that he had offered me the night before.  
Right next to the cartoon he wrote “you’re RAD - xoxo frnk”.

I wonder if he signs shit like that to all of his fans. I bet he does. It's probably the standard message that hd does.

I hid the notes once i finished seeing them. They felt like _evidence_. Evidence of a night that had not happened. They ended up inside one of my many folders. The folders with the bad sketches that never went anywhere. Figured it would be fitting.

*******

I was taking care of groceries when Bert sent me a message. 

After a long time of waiting, i had finally received a confirmation that Bert was still out there. He had sent me: miss u, honeybear :( how u holding up?. Nothing else. I was the one who was supposed to make conversation. Fuck that. If he could make me wait weeks for a reply, then i could make him wait for weeks too. 

I didn’t reply anything. There was nothing that i could tell him anyway. I put the phone back in my pocket like i hadn't read the question at all. I wanted to worry about something else. Buying more bread, or whatever the fuck. Anything that didn't involve him. 

For the first time ever, i was glad to be in Paris. I could hide from Bert here all that i wanted. From my family too. I didn't have to talk about the mess that i made. I could just go to the store, buy some bread and forget the whole thing.

Reading his message gave a very strange feeling that i couldn't get rid of. A mixture of shame, regret, and straight up grief. For the first time ever, i was not glad to hear from him. I was scared. I felt like something had died in me…

I kept shopping. I had to keep my mind occupied in something else.

Got the usual stuff that broke college students get. Cheap food, cheap coffee, cheap notebooks. Sure, i already own twenty of ‘em. But you never know. Maybe there will be an emergency. Course i need a notebook with the promotional picture of a sci-fi movie for kids. It could be handy at some point. My mom doesnt get to tell me “no”.

As i walked through the aisles something special caught my attention. Something _stupid_.

Frank was gone. He was in Italy now. Then he was supposed to god knows where. The band was probably not playing in Paris again till...fuck? The next tour? The next record? The next decade? The next reincarnation? I wasn't going to see him. Ever. There was no reason to believe otherwise. That's all that i knew for certain about the guy. 

Still. I grabbed a bottle of lube and placed it in my shopping car. Just in case… Just in case… No one was going to know. Or care. People dont worry about dumb outsiders like me. No need to put it back now.

RAD  
I had not heard that word in a long time. It lingered in my head. "You're rad" It was so fucking stupid. Why did it suddenly make me so happy? Fuckin’ rad.


End file.
